


Green Eyes

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [41]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Coming Out, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, Multilingual Character, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, if i got the spanish wrong forgive me i'm trying my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: It was just supposed to be dinner, that's all.At her apartment.That you haven't been to in seven years.Oh no.





	1. Have dinner with me?

Turn the corner, and there she is, blue vest over white shirt. Cropped jeans and middle-aged mom-hair. Ortega sees you and breaks into a smile, standing up from the park bench to wave you over.

Either you’re safe or this is about to be the most casual arrest ever.

“Ari! You made it!” She moves towards you as you get close, arms outstretched. Don’t evade as she pulls you into a hug. It’s tight and warm and lasts maybe a second too long. 

“Jesus, Ortega,” laugh as you disentangle yourself, “w–what’s got you all excited?”

She manages to land a quick peck on your nose before you can put a safe distance between the two of you. Ortega quirks her mouth to the side, giving you a look. “We haven’t talked in over a month, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” She runs a hand down your right arm, catching your fingers before you can hide them away under your shawl. “I’m just glad to see you, okay?”

You break eye contact, pushing your sunglasses back up your nose. “I t–told you it – it wasn’t your fault.” You flex your fingers, caught in her hand. Intimately aware of every point of contact. This… this is okay, right? You can do this, right?

“Ari.” Ortega sighs. She’s not letting your hand go. Won’t let you go. “You ghosted me after having a panic attack, of course I’m going to wonder what I could have done differently.”

“Th–that’s…” Drop your head, let your shoulders sag. It doesn’t take much to play up how exhausted you feel. “I’m sorry.” Look up at her again, searching her face while avoiding the eyes. “I needed to d–do some uh, soul searching.” Not a complete lie.

“And did you find it?” Her voice is wry, but your heart skips a beat and you freeze up. She sees the expression on your face and winces. “That was a joke, sorry.”

“I–it’s fine.” The response is automatic.

“I have to ask,” she shifts her weight on her feet, glances around the two of you. Making sure know one’s listening in? Could have just asked you. “Have you been paying attention to the news?”

You offer a non-committal shrug. “If it happens t–to be on.”

“You know about what happened at the Boulevard Casino?” She watches you from the corner of her eye. Eyes flicking away every time you glance towards her.

“That’s the place that got attacked right?” The news media, has unsurprisingly gotten a very limited version of what happened. No mention of any illegal black market auction, or Argent, or–

“The Catastrofiend’s back.”

“Fuck.” You freeze up. Just hearing the name aloud sends a spike of panic through you. How the hell does Ortega know? What exactly did Argent tell the other Rangers? “They’re going to–to make you go after her aren’t they?”

“It’s part of the job.”

You shake your head, “F–f–fuck that, let me help.” The words leave your mouth before you process what you’re saying. “I–I–I’m not letting you fight that alone.”

“You’re retired.” Ortega’s voice is distant, wondering? “And I have a whole team, let me remind you.”

“Last time, you nearly d–died.” You squeeze her hand hard. “W–w–would have without me.”

“I remember.” Her voice is wry. “I’ll be fine. We have Lady Argent this time.” She flashes a grin. “You’re not the one who should be worried.”

“What d–does that mean?”

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?” She pulls you closer, searching your face. “Between Adrestia picking a fight with Hollow Ground and this… things have the potential to get real stupid, real quick. Just… be careful, okay?”

You don’t know what to say that. What could you even say without risking everything. “Alright,” you whisper. “I’ll be careful.” You pull back against her hand. “Th–that goes for you too.”

The two of you walk in silence through the park. Letting Ortega pick the path, wondering where she’s going with this. She doesn’t let go of your hand. “So…” You know that tone of voice by now; curious, concerned, but trying not to be too overt about it. “You’re not going to mention it?”

You slow to a stop. “Mention w–what?”

“What the hell happened to your eye, Ari?”

You bring your left hand up to your face, feel the thin line running under the sunglasses down your cheek. “Oh.” Stitched together and starting to heal but it’s still sore to the touch, cutting your eyebrow in two.

Ortega purses her lips like she can’t decide whether to laugh or yell. “Yeah ‘oh.’ What happened?”

“It’s fine – it’s nothing.” You shake your head, try to smile. “I was dumb, d–deserved it.”

Ortega’s deepening frown suggests that was maybe the wrong thing to say. “Deserved it? Ari–”

“It’s  _ fine _ .” You cut her off, willing her to believe you. “A f–f–few more days and I’ll just use some c–concealer like I do with the others.”

She knits her eyebrows together. “Other scars?”

Ah fuck.

You need to distract her away from this. “D–d–don’t give me that.” You huff. “I’m not the one that went back on act–active duty weeks too early.”

She tenses up, “That’s different.”

“You sh–should care a little more about yourself for a – for a change.” You squeeze her hand. She’s not in her twenties anymore. She’s going to get herself killed operating like she does. Hell, it’s a miracle she made it out of her twenties to begin with, and that was with you looking over her shoulder for half of it.

“I guess neither one of us has ever been good at that, huh?”

“N–need to learn sometime.”

Ortega glances at you and you fidget under her gaze. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.”

She reaches up with her free hand to brush your cheek. It’s an act of will to let it happen. To not bat her hand away. To not break apart, to not put distance between you. It’s just Ortega. She’s not going to hurt you. Not in this context anyway. She still frowns. “You flinched.” Ortega pulls her hand back without touching you.

“That’s–” You swallow, throat going dry. “You d–don’t just… touch someone’s face like that.” Put on your best smile. “I’d have f–flinched either way.”

Slowly she returns your smile. “Sorry. I just,” she laughs, “I like touching you.”

“I’ve noticed.” You arch an eyebrow, smile tugging up your cheeks, face feeling a little too warm. “So… Where did you w–want to eat?”

“I was thinking… Hoots?”

“Again?”

“What’s wrong with Hoots?”

“It’s…” You struggle to come up with a reason that doesn’t involve you admitting there’s been one two many emotional breakdowns in the vicinity of that old diner. Shrug and avert your eyes away from Ortega again.

“It’s safe.” Ortega fills in. “Comfortable.” She still won’t let go of your hand, holding tight. Is that your hand that’s getting sweaty or hers? “Owl knows the business, you don’t have to worry as much about prying eyes or ears with her.”

You sigh, it’s hard to argue with that. “We always go there, though.”

“Alright Miss fussypants,” she grins as she prods you, squeezes your hand in hers. “What’s your suggestion?”

“Uh…”

“Well?”

The truth is, Ortega is right. It’s hard to beat Hoots. Most of the options you can think of are more places Jane would go. Those are… not signals you want to mix. Especially now.

When you don’t respond, she tilts her head to the side, tugs at your hand in hers. “How about you let me cook something for you?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. “Cook something?”

“I seem to remember teaching you more than a few things.” She sounds so pleased with herself.

You narrow your eyes, but her smug grin is proving infectious. “You counted on this didn’t you.”

“I plead the fifth.”


	2. Sideswept

“Huh.” You pause in the doorframe, caught between stepping forward and falling back.

Ortega glances back at you, already on her way to wash up at the kitchen sink. “What is it?”

“Y–you still live here?”

“What’s wrong with my place?” She laughs, hands under the water. When did she switch her mods off? That’s not a subtle process.

“N–nothing. I’m just… surprised? It’s been a long t–time.” You laugh too, hoping to break the tension as you step inside. Shut the door behind you and the lock clicks shut with an electronic beep. “Even the lady at the door w–was the same person.”

“Not everything has to change in seven years.” She dries her hands in a towel hanging from the oven handlebar. “You have to have some sort of metric to judge the rest by.”

“I guess so.” You linger by the door, fingering your sunglasses in your hands. Should you sit down at the table? Help Ortega in the kitchen? How does this work again? “What would you have done if I had gone along with Hoots?”

“I’d have figured something out.” Ortega flashes you that smug smile of hers.

Wander past the kitchen table, running a hand over the polished wood. Over one chair you drape your shawl and put down your purse after sticking your sunglasses inside. Easy access in case you need to leave in a hurry. If Ortega notices, she doesn’t comment. There’s the bathroom, bedroom door closed. The bookshelf in the den has some new decorations. Some scattered photographs on the walls. Faces you recognize, a few you don’t.

You need to distract yourself. “Why even suggest going to that dumb bar in the first place?” You call back towards the kitchen.

There’s a laugh, “It’s not dumb!”

“It’s a bar.”

“How about next time I take you on a proper date? Somewhere real fancy.”

Even as you open your mouth you know you’re going to come to regret this. “Okay.”

“Then why are you com–” There’s the sound of something clattering to the kitchen floor, and a muffled curse. “Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn to smirk as you re-enter the kitchen. “Didn’t expect that?”

“No!” Ortega laughs, “Well, alright then. No take backs now!”

“As long as y–you’re paying.” You cross your arms, nervous energy running through you. So much easier to step off the ledge like this now that you know it’s all doomed to collapse under you anyway.

“A proper lady pays her own way,” she laughs as she opens the fridge. “Beer or Coke?”

“Get– getting cheap in your old age? And… s–sure beer, why not.” Fuck it.

“I’m not old…” Ortega huffs as she tosses you a bottle, “Passing up on soda too? You’re full of surprises today.”

You catch the bottle, “Coke’s bad for you anyway.” You sit down and grab the bottle opener from the table, popping the cap off.

Ortega shuts the fridge door, a beer in her own hand. She arcs an eyebrow, “Hrm, yes, beer is much healthier I suppose.”

“Shut up!” You laugh, toss the bottle opener at her.

She manages to catch it out of the air before it hits her. Damn. “No judgement here.” Her smile is big, goofy looking as she pops her own bottle upon. “You seem happy today.”

“I c–c–can’t be miserable  _ all _ the time.” You lie, matching her toast and raising your beer. “That’d be exhausting.”

Ortega doesn’t reply at first, merely raises her eyebrows at you while she takes a long drink. “You’d really go out somewhere nice with me?”

You frown. “I said yes. W–what, you don’t believe me?”

“I do! I do! I just,” she laughs, “I figured I’d have to work a little harder warming you up first.”

“Oh, am I t–too easy for you now?” Your smile gains some teeth. “Maybe I should play hard t–to–to get? Drag this out another decade?”

Ortega shakes her head, laughing. “No, no no, this is fine! This is great.”

Take a sip from your beer. “I missed you.” Don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until you see the change in Ortega’s face. The way the swerve has caught her off guard.

“I missed you too.” She responds finally, looks you in the eye. Your face feels warm. It must be the alcohol. Better watch that.

“So!” You put your beer down. “You promised dinner?”

Ortega puts her bottle down too. “Right!” She stretches her arms, fingers interlocked above her head. “Do you mind helping? I could use another pair of hands.”

“J–just like old times, hrm?” You stand up, pushing your chair back in. “W–what’s on the menu, chef Ortega?”

“Well, chef Becker,” She matches your tone of voice entirely too smoothly. “I was thinking we can’t go wrong with some proper tacos.”

“Y–yes…” You nod your head, making of show of careful consideration. “I c–c–can see why you need my help.” You walk over to where she stands, leaning on the kitchen counter. “C–clearly beyond your abilities.”

Ortega reaches out an arm as you get near. Shoot her a questioning glance and there’s a soft smile reaching her eyes as she bends you down for a too-quick kiss.

“Hey…?” You grab her arm as she pulls you back up. Ortega has a talent for making you feel small, it would appear. Though the feeling is maybe not unwelcome. “W–w–what was that about?”

“How you feeling?” She whispers, her arm is still around the small of your back.

“P–p–peachy.” You sputter. She’s so close. Against you. Oh god. Remember to breath.

She smiles, warm. Or maybe you just feel warm. Face and elsewhere. “Good choice, but it’s the wrong season for peach salsa.”

You laugh, push her away. “You c–can be a real dork.”

“I’m sure we could find a… suitable substitute.” She grins.

It takes you a moment and then your eyes widen, “Oh my god!?” You spin on your heel away from her. This whole conversation has turned dangerous. “Let’s just–” you voice cracks, “let’s j–j–just make dinner, okay!?”

Behind you, Ortega laughs.

  
  



	3. Tell her

Ortega handles the sauce and meat while you get to cutting up ingredients. It’s a routine summoned out of half-forgotten memory. Just like old times? Hardly. Were you always this hyper-aware of her location in comparison to yours? Every near brushing by? The flash of smiles the two of you trade?

There’s a small CD-player tucked into the corner next to the fridge. Ortega prods it on with the opposite end of her wooden spoon. The voice that crackles out of the speaker gives you a start. Put the knife down and glance over her, covering your mouth to muffle your laugh. “Oh my god?”

“What?” She grins back at you.

“I can’t believe you still listen to these guys?” You rock your head with the beat. “Ska w–was already dead ten years ago, old woman.”

“Excuse me?” Ortega huffs, still smiling. “You were the one that couldn’t stop listening to them.”

You shrug, hands up in the air. “I w–was young, I d–didn’t know any better yet.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Like you aren’t still a kid at heart.”

“Watch it y–you, I’ve got the knives.” You turn back to the cutting board, neatly bisecting a bell pepper to underline your point. “Still, I’ll admit that if a–anyone here’s grown up it’s you.” You glance back at her, “Nice mom hair.”

“Hey…” She pats at her hair, “I like my hair. This is fashionable.”

“You going to start wearing plaid vests all the time? Maybe dye your hair blue?”

“Hah. Maybe I will!”

She laughs first and then you find yourself laughing too. Slide the diced pepper into a bowl and grab a tomato. “So what happened to the braid?”

The smile fades from Ortega’s face. She stirs the meat on the pan, rather than immediately reply. Suddenly the upbeat tempo of the music feels less appropriate. “I did try.”

“What?”

“I tried to braid it. After… after you were gone.” There’s a hollow laugh as she pushes the meat around with her wooden spoon. “It was awful. I couldn’t do it. And, okay… maybe I was a little drunk. Or… maybe more than a little. And I just…” She sighs, takes a big breath.

Part of you wants to reach out to her, touch her shoulder. You don’t. You stay put across from her. 

“I could remember your hands, and how good you were at it. How careful you were. And I…” She shakes her head, turns the heat off. “I couldn’t find any scissors so I just grabbed a knife, out of here, and just… hacked it off. Threw it in the trash.” 

You swallow, blink the water out of your eyes. “Julia… I’m sorry.”

That gets a forced, bitter laugh from Ortega. “For what? It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but…”

“Ah, you should have seen the heart attack the media team went through when I came in the next day.” She makes herself smile, “Dios mío, they had a conniption. Sent me to a hairdresser and forced me to take a leave of absence.” She tilts the pan above a heart-shaped bowl, gently spooning the meat and sauce out. “That’s when I decided it was time to quit.”

“You went back though.”

“That’s true. I did.” She doesn’t elaborate further. Would this be easier if you weren’t on opposite sides? Would it hurt less? You don’t pick the conversation back up, just listen as the next track on the stereo plays. This one you don’t recognize. A trio of women singing in harmony and backed by guitars, a piano.

As the two of you finish up, waiting for the shells to finish warming in the oven, you lean back against the counter. It’s too comfortable, being back here. Every second you linger here is just going to make the moment when you have to wake up from this fantasy hurt that much worse.

“So, are you going t–to tell her?” You surprise yourself with your own question.

It catches Ortega off guard too. “Tell who?”

“Tía Elena.”

“¡Mierda!” She sucks in her breath, turning away from you as the oven beeps. “You been carrying that one around for a while?”

“You haven’t once t–talked about her.” You dip your head, watching Ortega’s body language as she pulls the shells out. “And she certainly hasn’t insisted on see– seeing me. Is she okay?”

“Mamá is fine.” Ortega hisses under her breath as she closes the oven door. “I’m just… I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Afraid she’ll ask w–what you won’t? Th–that I’ll run?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Ortega shifts her weight, “You said you had people after you. I didn’t want to risk bringing her into that.”

You frown, guilt welling up. “Th–that’s fair. I’m sorry.”

“Mierda, you’re fine.” Ortega waves a hand, “Set the table while I finish here?”

You nod, “Okay.” The plates are in the same cabinet they’re always in, like seven years haven’t passed. Different plates though. Everything here is like that. Same but different. You really are a ghost. Haunting Ortega? Or is Ortega haunting you? Hadn’t thought about Elena in years. Any of Ortega’s extended family really. Now it’s threatening to overwhelm you.

You put down Ortega’s a glass a little too hard and she glances over at you. “Everything okay over there?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, then wince. “Well, o–okay, as f–fine as I ever am.” You return to the kitchen, take the pair of bowls Ortega hands you to bring to the table. “God, that smells good.”

She smiles at you, follows after with more bowls. “It’s been a long time since we did something like this, hasn’t it? I should have invited you over sooner.”

“Hah. In y–your dreams, maybe.”

Ortega puts a hand on her chest in mock shock. “How did you know?”

You sit down as she grabs the last of things from the kitchen, shaking your head. “Why d–did you ever bother with me to begin w–with? I’ll never understand.”

She tsks as she sits down, shoving the plate of shells in your direction. “Ari! Just eat.”

“That’s n–not an answer.”

She laughs, “Just eat!”

The two of you take turns with the bowls. Ortega, just as you remembered, carefully constructing ‘perfect’ assemblages. In comparison, your own plate has everything piled together in a crude mess. 

Ortega shakes her head as you shovel a forkful down. “Dios mío, you’re still hopeless aren’t you.”

You nod, smile between mouthfuls, “th–that’s me alright.

“So? You like it?”

Purse your lips, make of show of thinking it over. “W–well… the salsa’s good.”

You don’t bother hiding your smirk as Ortega laughs, leaning over to punch you lightly in the arm. “You ass! You made that!”

“It’s Tía’s recipe!” You protest, laughing. “You’re always so d–desperate for a pat on the head!”

She punches you again, a little harder. “Only from you, you pendeja!”

“Okay, okay!” You hold up a hand to shield off any further prodding. Still grinning at the indignation on Ortega’s face. “It’s great. Th–thank you. Really.”

“Thank you.” She laughs.

You snort as she bites into a taco and the shell shatters, scattering meat and toppings over her plate. She shoots you a glare as she wipes her hands off on a napkin. 

“ _ God _ ,” you exhale out the word and you have to look away from her, back to your own plate. “I–I missed this. I  _ really _ missed this.”

Ortega’s knee brushes against yours under the table and you look back up at her. She’s smiling, warm, eyes bright. “Me too.”

“I–I–I still can’t believe that we– that you’re– I mean…” You chew your cheek, too many words trying to get out. Catch sight of Ortega’s widening smile and frown at her. “Hey… D–don’t look so smug, y–you.”

“Me? Smug?” She leans closer to you, “Never.”

You press your lips together, trying not to smile back. “Julia Ortega, y–you are  _ easily _ the smuggest person I–I–I have ever known.”

She cracks up, leaning back as she laughs, “You flatter me, thank you.”

As you shovel another forkful into your mouth you can feel your face burning.


	4. I'm not worried

As soon as the flow of conversation ebbs you have time to think again. A mistake, as usual. What are you doing here Ariadne? Because you miss her? Really? Because you have feelings for her? Because, impossible of impossible dreams, she has feelings for you? It’s not going to work, you know that right?

You’re not a good person. Julia deserves better. Pursuing this is selfish. More than that, it’s dangerous. All it takes is one word from Lady Argent and any pretension of a civilian life for ‘Ariadne Becker’ is gone for good. You should be casting this away, not clinging to it harder.

And now you’re here. In Ortega’s home. Eating her food. Trading jokes with her, smiles, laughter. You haven’t felt this happy in a long, long time.

You push your chair back, grab another bottle sitting out on the kitchen counter as you walk out to the living room. Lean with your elbows against the back of the couch as you stare out the window at the twilight sky. It was around the same time of day when everything went to shit, wasn’t it. You hold the beer with one hand, dig your nails into your arm with the other. 

“Don’t think you can get out of dishwashing.” Ortega calls from behind you.

You glance back, trying to smile. “You’ve got a d–dishwasher, I’m not w–worried.”

“Some things are too delicate to go in there.”

You shake your head, look down at the couch. Frown. “Hey… what happened to the old couch? That thing was indestructible.”

Silence, save for the tinny noise of the stereo from the kitchen, then: “Well.. it sort of got blown up, actually.” You turn around, still leaning against the couch. Ortega’s shifted in her seat to look at you, rubbing the back of her neck. “Half of my stuff, really. So… turns out it wasn’t that immortal.”

“Fuck.” You search her face. Want her to be lying just to save your feelings. “What happened?”

“Eh.” She waves at the air, as she gets up. “It was just a warning shot. For poking the wrong bear.” Ortega walks over to the nearest window, starts shutting the blinds.

You frown as you watch her move from window to window. When she gets closer you put your bear down and move over to her, jab her in the arm. “Maybe they set the timer wrong.”

“Hey!” She winces, hand twitching at her side. “We upped security after that. It’s fine.”

“Good. It better be.”

She glances at you, not quite meeting your eyes. “So, you do care about me.”

You frown at that, stepping away. “Of c–course I care, y–you idiot.” Your glare melts as you catch sight of her face. Her expression is soft, wide worried eyes focused squarely on you. She reaches out, grabs your fingers and you freeze. Let her entangle her hand in yours. Warm. Real.

But you’re not. You’re not real. Not anymore. You died. 

Ortega’s voice is low, almost too quiet to hear. “I never… got to tell you. Before.”

A ghost of nausea in the back of your throat. Your fingers twitch in hers. “T–tell me what?”

“I was in love with you.”

Your heart seizes in your chest. You try to say something, but your voice doesn’t work. She’s looking at you. She’s  _ looking _ at you. “Fuck.” You manage to squeak out.

“I never got to tell you, back then.” She tilts her head, still focused squarely on you. “I waited too long. So… I’m telling you now.”

Are you feeling dizzy? Lightheaded? You are. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. “Why? Don’t– d–d–don’t we– what– what good is saying it now?”

Ortega steps in closer to you, holding your hand tight as if you might run at any moment. She might not be wrong there. “I want you to know… no,” she shakes her head, “I need you to know. Because I don’t think you do. Not really.”

For a moment you think you might crumple and then Ortega grabs your other arm, holding you up. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the truth. What you are. What you’ve done. What you’ll continue to do. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

She can’t.

She  _ can’t _ .

“I needed to tell you.” She won’t look away, face inscrutable. What is she  _ thinking _ ? You can’t know. Can never know. “I needed to tell you,” she repeats, “for your sake. As well as mine.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Your grin is frantic, your heart pounding and it’s a struggle to remember to control your breathing. “Y–y–you don’t– know what you’re– what you’re saying J–julia…” You swallow hard. “That– that wo– that person d–doesn’t exist any–anymore. She’s dead. B–buried. Gone. Y–you buried her.”

“I’m looking right at her.”

You want to cry. This isn’t right. It’s not fair. Why can’t Ortega, of all people, see you for what you really are? A fake. A ghost. A monster. “No you aren’t.” You manage to choke out. 

“Okay.”

She doesn’t stop looking at you. Always looking. How can she see you, see this and not be repulsed? If she knew, if she really knew, she would be. Right? Her expression betrays nothing and that damnable static betrays even less than that.

“W–w–what are you–” you swallow hard, holding yourself together through will alone. “What are you say–saying okay to? Do y–you even get it?”

She still doesn’t break eye contact, damn her. Her words slow, deliberately picked. Her face too close to yours. “You keep saying… that you’re not who I think you are.” She has no right to sound so confident as she does right now. “That the woman I fell in love with is dead.”

“D–d–don’t you– don’t you get it?” You can barely hear yourself speak.

“I suppose…” She smiles, her self-assurance has to be a front. It has to be. “I fell in love with this new you all over again.”

Every word she says feels like a brand pressed hot against your skin. She thinks she’s being kind, but it’s only going to burn the truth out sooner. Ruin this fantasy world you’ve dreamed yourself into.

“Ariadne…?” She tilts her head, “Are you okay?”

There’s no point in lying. Not now. Not after this. “No.” Try to laugh it off, wipe a hand against your eyes. Ortega pulls you in for a hug and you fall against her. Your vision’s blurring and you can feel your nose running. “¿Me est–estás tomando el pelo?” This has to be some kind of joke, right? Any moment now she’s going to mess up your hair and rib you hard for falling for it.

Ortega holds you tightly, kissing the top of your forehead. “No, le estory diciendo la verdad.” She runs a hand through your hair, down your back. She strokes your back again, and again, until you stop shaking.

“¿P–pero, por qué?”

“¿Tienes miedo de que te quiera?”

“Yo sí, yo tengo– tengo miedo…” You push away from from her. Ortega’s hands slide off you as you step away, hugging yourself now to try and hold yourself up. “Why? Why tell me  _ now _ ?”

Ortega steps after you, stops, puts a hand on the armrest of the couch. “Look… Ari, it feels like…” Her confidence returns for a moment and she flashes you another smile. You wonder if it’s as brittle as it looks. “It feels like everything could fall apart around us at any moment right now.” She sighs, sinks into the couch cushion, still looking straight at you. “I need you to know – to  _ really _ know that I’d do anything I could to save you.”

“You can’t.” Ortega flinches as you say it. “Haven’t– haven’t you learned that by now? Y–y–you can’t save everybody. Y–you c–c–can’t save me.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t break eye contact with you. “But you’ve met me, right?” There’s a hint of that familiar cocky grin, “I’m going to try.”

“¡Detente!” This was a bad idea. This whole night as a bad idea. What were you thinking? Idiot. Moron. Fool. “¡No sabes lo que estás diciendo!” She thinks she’s got it all figured out, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t get it.  _ Save you _ ? From what? Yourself? What, is she going to wrap you in blanket and lock you in a padded room? “Y–y–you’re just going to get yourself hurt, Julia.”

She holds out a hand, and you let her pull you down onto the seat next to her. “You keep saying that, but…” You look at her, she smiles. “I got my apartment blown up while you were gone. And that barely ranks among about a dozen other messed up things that have happened. You know?” She squeezes your hand. “Maybe it’s not you, Ari. Maybe I just like living dangerously.”

“Are– are you saying I’m d–dangerous?”

“No, but  _ you _ are. And I’m saying you’re worth it. That any ‘danger’ doesn’t worry me.”

“Fuck.” You shrink into the couch, pull your legs up under you. “It s–should.”


	5. Green Eyes

“We need a cheer-up.”

“Hah.”

“Actually…” A smile spreads across Julia’s face as her eyes light up. “I have an idea.” She squeezes your hand again before letting go.

“Oh no?” You watch as she gets back up, first to grab the CD-player and then disappears into her room. “…Ortega…?”

“Hold on!” There’s the sound of something being moved around a muffled curse in Spanish. “Found it!” She walks back to you in the living room, stopping to clear space on the bookshelf.

A feeling of trepidation churns in the base of your stomach as you watch her run the power cord down to the outlet. “W–what are you… doing Ortega?”

She glances back to you, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Do you remember that first time you came over here with your guitar…?”

Oh no. “It w–was a Bass.”

“Bass guitar, yeah.” Julia holds out a hand towards you, “Entonces, ¿quieres bailar conmigo?”

You sigh and roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your face despite yourself. “Fine then, bein entonces.” You push yourself up and step over to her. “I–I–I’m not singing though. You’re on your own th–there Sparkles.”

“¡Mierda!” Julia laughs as she takes your hand, “And, I was looking forward to it.”

You shake your head. You shouldn’t be smiling. Not now. Not here. “That show’s been over for a long time.”

“I’ll just have to sing for you then.” She smiles, smug as anything, and sets the player to start before taking your other hand.

You raise your eyebrows. “ _ You’re _ going to sing? Should I be worried here, Julia?”

“Hey! I can sing.”

“Prove it.”

There’s a light in Julia’s eyes as she takes a breath, waiting for the right beat to start. Gently rocking your hands side to side with hers.

> _ Could’ve been the way _
> 
> _ the moonlight hit the dashboard, _
> 
> _ passenger window rolled down. _
> 
> _ That got me thinking, _
> 
> _ there’s something we should talk about, _
> 
> _ it’s not worth waiting out. _

You blink, “Wait what is this–?” You narrow your eyes at her, and her smile only grows between each word.

> _ I can give you space if you need it. _

She spins you away, holding on with one hand.

> _ You can walk away, I’m not leaving. _
> 
> _ There’s pride in my mouth, I got used to the taste; _
> 
> _ But I’ll swallow it now and I’ll be the first to say _

Pulls you back towards her, catching you from falling with her free arm.

> _ Those green eyes are my green light, _

You stare at her, face far too warm. “Oh my god. Julia.” She gives you the biggest, smuggest grin, and now the two of you are moving together, following her lead around the room.

> _ I’m giving up control. _
> 
> _ You see red lights; _
> 
> _ I see me blowing straight through to you. _
> 
> _ If we’re headed for the cliffside, _
> 
> _ I’m ready for the fall, if you know me at all; _
> 
> _ You know I don’t need lights to decide: _
> 
> _ I’m not changing my mind. _

“You like it?” She’s so pleased with herself, the smug ass. It’s infectious.

“I plead t–the fifth.”

She just grins at you.

> _ We could both play the pretender, _
> 
> _ circling round this parking lot. _

She spins you out again.

> _ While one us still remembers, _
> 
> _ we’re lucky to have what we’ve got. _

Pulls you back in, landing a peck on your check. Laughs at your surprise.

> _ We’re taking room for breathing _
> 
> _ You can walk away, I’m not leaving. _

Another smug, knowing grin from a face far, far too close to your own.

> _ There’s pride in your mouth, you got used to the taste; _
> 
> _ Can you swallow it now when you hear me say? _

You pull back a little, not enough to break contact but to slow things down a little and – oh that was the wrong choice.

> _ Those green eyes are my green light, _
> 
> _ I’m giving up control. _
> 
> _ You see red lights; _
> 
> _ I see me blowing straight through to you. _
> 
> _ If we’re headed for the cliffside, _
> 
> _ I’m ready for the fall, if you know me at all; _
> 
> _ You know I don’t need lights to decide: _
> 
> _ I’m not changing my mind. _

Slow steps now and she’s looking at you. Only at you. Trusting you’ll keep the two of you from knocking into anything. Fuck.

> _ Thought I could read you, _
> 
> _ but I lost my place. _
> 
> _ Now we’re on different pages, I need you. _

She squeezes your hand.

> _ Thought I could read you, _
> 
> _ but I lost my place. _
> 
> _ Now we’re on different pages, I need you. _

Pulling closer together again, slowing down. Separate planets moments before impact. One that will destroy you. Or her. Or both. Fuck fuck fuck

> _ Thought I could read you, _
> 
> _ but I lost my place. _
> 
> _ Now we’re on different pages, I need you. _

The music peters out, and Julia’s still there. Standing in front of you, one hand in yours, holding your arm with the arm. Smiling, smug as anything, warm. “Well?” She prompts, “See, I can sing just fine.”

You have to take a moment to gather your wits. Find a way out of this conversation. “It w–was… acceptable.”

“Acceptable!?” Julia laughs, and shoves you away. In the background, the next song starts but neither one of you are paying attention now. “Acceptable she says. Get real Ari, you loved it. Estás lleno de mierda…”

You cover your mouth with a hand, avoid looking her in the eyes. “You d–don’t know me.”

“Oh please.” She pokes you in the shoulder. “You don’t have nearly the poker face you think you do, Becker. You were thinking about it the whole time, weren’t you?”

“About what?” Glance at Julia, and she’s standing there, hands on her hips shaking her head at you.

Teeth in her smile. “Doing more than just kissing me?”

That gives you a start. “I–I–I wasn’t!” You shake your head wildly, hair falling in your face. You’ve long given up entertaining the idea of anything along those lines. No matter how–

“Then about how good I look?” Julia leans in towards you, cocky smug grin on her face. 

“I–I–I…” You sputter.

“That a yes then?”

“M–maybe.”

“Maybe?” Her face lights up. Too happy. Too pleased. Because of what you said? This isn’t right. You shouldn’t be able to have this kind of affect of her. Ortega was always the one immune to your talents. Caring for you like this is only going to destroy her.

She abandoned you. Or, so you were tricked into believing for seven years. It’s not a feeling easily replaced. You’ve lied to her. Hurt her, literally hospitalized her, in the name of revenge. It could happen again. It could happen again but worse.

This is everything you had to give up. Everything you lost in order to survive. What you couldn’t have. Can’t ever have. You’re not human, and you never can be. You can’t just… quit, can you? No. The Directive always comes after its wayward toys eventually. You’ll pay for every second you’ve stolen here.

“Ariadne?” It takes you a moment to realize Julia’s holding you up.

“I just… I need to sit down.”

“I’ll say, you looked like you were about to faint.”

Roll your eyes, slide back against the couch cushions. “You… you d–don’t look  _ that _ good, Sparkles.”

Her smile returns, though subdued as she sits down beside you. “You’re pale as a sheet, are you sure you’re okay?”

An argument breaks out between a man and woman on the street outside and you have to shake your head. Try to jar their thoughts out of your mind. What the hell happened to your usual shields? You close your eyes. “N–n–no. I’m– I’m not. P–please just.. hold me?”

“Of course.” Julia shifts position on the couch, moving towards you to wrap an arm around your shoulders. You slump over against her chest, focus on the thump of her heartbeat, her arms pulling you against her. Like she’s afraid you’ll run away. Or fall. Not unfounded fears.

You don’t fix broken tools. You throw them away and get a new one. Why doesn’t she get it? You thought she did, but… that was mistaken, obviously. She thinks she can protect you? Keep you safe? That’s impossible. You’ll never be safe. Not from the Directive, not from her, not from yourself.

“Hey…?” A hand rubs your shoulder. “Hey… Ari, are you crying?”

You push her away, push back out of her embrace. Turn your head so she can’t see your face, let your hair fall over your eyes. This is too much. She doesn’t want this. You’re dragging the night down again. Can never just be happy, can you chickadee?

Julia slides down onto the floor, moving between your legs, trying to look at your face. You shrink back into the couch. You’d rather be back in the Casino Auction Hall, facing down the Catastrofiend right now. Without your armor. That would be less terrifying than this moment. “Ari… please? Please just look at me.” She takes your hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs over the back of your palms. “It’s going to be okay, alright?”

You force yourself to look at her. On her knees she’s just below eye-level with you on the couch. There’s grey in her hair now. More scars. Age lines. Lost time.

“It  _ will _ , okay?” She squeezes your hands. “You know…” Her voice drops into a whisper. “I wasted too much time. I treated relationships like they were disposable.”

“I can remember…”

Julia winces. “After you almost died that first time… that stupid stunt against Psychopathor and I had to beg you to stay…”

You can’t look at her. “W–was that when– when you realized?”

“Maybe. I knew you were… different? – No, important. I needed you around.”

Your throat is tight enough to hurt as you speak. “Y–y–you should have told me.”

“Would it have changed anything? I was still riding the media attention and you… you were so scared of anything remotely in that direction. I was… afraid. I couldn’t risk it. So I just tried to ignore it.”

“Settle for b–being friends.”

“Yeah.” Julia sighs. “Don’t you think we’ve lost enough time already?”

“It’s not like w–we can get it back.” Seven years dead. Five them of them in hell. Now you’re what? Not dead, fine. But you’re definitely not alive either.

“You’re right, we can’t…” Julia agrees, “But… we can still make up for it, don’t you think?” She’s smiling up at you now and oh no. She can’t really be implying what you think she is, right? Fuck. Fucking hell. Shit.

If she catches onto your inner panic she at least has the grace to ignore it. There’s a smile on her face again as she talks. “Are...  _ you  _ interested in doing more than just making out…?”

You suck in your breath. Just because you gave up on that part of life doesn’t mean you could just… turn that part of you off.  _ You _ may not be human, but this ill-fitting body you’re trapped in sure is.

Catch her eyes look at you again, give her a long hard stare. This is all her fault. For caring about you. For not giving up when any reasonable person should have. “D–d–don’t make me regret this, Julia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Green Eyes by Joseph]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTmENEvkp64)


	6. Jenga pieces

It’s her fault. This is all her fault. Couldn’t have just left you for dead like she was supposed to. Had to keep digging up that grave, turning that soil. You kiss Julia hard, so you can’t say anything else stupid. Think anything else stupid. Just her. Always her.

She breaks the kiss, a breathless smile, to get back beside you on the couch. Pulling you into her gravity again. There’s a frantic energy in you, a freedom to act that calls to mind other times; that freedom between deciding to end it and coming to your senses. You can do anything, what will it matter in the long run?

Face flush on fire, or maybe that’s the whole of you. An ember in Julia’s lap. If you burn her, it’s not your fault. You warned her. A wordless plea you mouth into her lips, hands in her hair. There’s no happy ending possible here, only free-fall.

“Damn,” Julia breaks for breath.

You narrow your eyes at her, “D–d–don’t fucking say it.”

Kiss her again to shut her up. Or you. Or both. Stave off the ground a second longer. She holds you tight. The moment you break again, she shoots you a glance, “So…?”

Memories of asphalt in the ally. You can thread this needle right? “Clothes st–stay on.” Stare down at her, make her know you mean it.

“Okay.”

“Okay? J–just like that?”

“We still have options.”

You tighten your gaze into a glare.

“Hey!” She laughs, “What kind of a person do you take me for, Ari?” Hand up your neck, and she pulls you down and in and – it doesn’t matter what you want, you can’t have it. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Damnit. There’s an undignified whine that couldn’t have  _ possibly _ have come from you. Pull away, pull away from Julia and her hands on you, hands running down your pants before they can feel anything anything amiss, anything wrong. 

“…hey?” Ortega’s voice is small, confused. Why wouldn’t she be, this is the second time now, no explanation.

She’ll find out. She’s going to find out.

Unless you leave. Now. Better dreaming of could-have-beens than a reality where she sees you for what you are. There’s your purse. Shawl. Pull the cloth tight around the shoulders. The more layers between you and her the safer. Now, just where did you put your shoes? You move away from her, look around the room. Don’t even remember taking them off. Old habits taking over, autopilot is a dangerous foe.

Julia follows you, behind, not blocking. “Ari?”

You hold up a hand, are you shaking? Or is it just your vision that’s blurring? “I j–j–just need to– need to find my shoes. Sorry. Sorry.” Focus on the floor, by the front door maybe? “I’ll get out–out of your hair, sorry. W–won’t bother you again, I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t?” Almost touches you, doesn’t, holds back. Where are your damn shoes? “This is just like before, I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed things. I got the wrong message–”

You feel like you could be sick right here. Just projectile vomit all over Julia’s kitchen table. You shake your head. “N–n-not wrong– not the wrong message.” There’s Julia’s shoes. What size is she? Could you take those?

Julia steps towards you, frustrated? Upset? Your fault. “Please, Ari? Just come back to the living room, okay? Just… just talk to me.” If you stole her shoes she’d be upset. They’re nice shoes. 

You’re frozen to the floor. Can’t decide what to do. How to act. Just the pounding of your heart, and the too-shallow breaths of your chest. 

You let her guide you back to the living room. Julia sits back down on the couch. That’s too close. Too intimate. Dangerous. Take the single-seat at an angle. Something you can curl into, knees to your chest. It’d be easy run to the balcony door or the front, depending on how bold you’re feeling. Multiple escape options always advised.

“Ari,  _ please _ , just talk to me.”

Watch your knuckles whiten as you grip into your legs. Bury your head in your knees rather than have to see the worry on Julia’s face. She really doesn’t know. “I… I d–d–don’t know how…” You sag, pressing yourself tighter together.

“Okay… well, that’s not news.” Her voice is brittle. 

“I–I–I d–don’t even understand…” You suck in your breath. You’re not crying. That’s not what’s happening right now. It’s just… difficulty breathing that’s all, nothing more. “W–why do you even– why bother w–with me?”

There’s silence, just long enough to get you to lift your head up to look across the room at her. A pained expression on her face, lips half-parted in words that aren’t coming.

“L–look, I’m– I’m not who y–you think I am, J–julia.”

On the ledge again. Julia shuts her mouth. Doesn’t say anything. Expression as unreadable as her mind. Does she know? Has she known this whole time? You should just lay it all out now. Head on the chopping block. Hand her the axe. It’s what she deserves for daring to care about you. Truth is a weedkiller. Indiscriminate.

But Argent is right. You’re a coward at heart. There’s always the flinch before impact. You can’t do it. Can’t say the words and face her.

But you have to say something.

“Ari…?” Julia’s voice. Worried. Uncertain. Look back up, her face is still unreadable.

Have to confess to  _ something _ . Some small truth to pull out of the jenga puzzle of lies you’ve imprisoned yourself in. Just pray it doesn’t all come tumbling down. Sentinel and Anathema were both transgender. She’d be okay with that right? Wouldn’t… see you as less than human for that, right?

But then again, it’s different when it’s just a co-worker.

You open your mouth and the words don’t come. You can’t do it. Can’t say it. Squeeze your eyes tight in a groan of frustration.”I–I don’t– I c–can’t say it.” Your voice hurts, pitched too high. “D–do you know what… what t–t–tucking is?”

“ _ Tucking _ ?” She doesn’t – doesn’t get it. Fuck. Her face still a blank.

You swallow the bile down, force yourself to not look away. “Okay, uh – a–around the – the time we first met, I had uh, I had just started on hormones.”

“Hormones…?” She tilts her head Then slow understanding dawns and you bury your head in your knees again. You can’t look. Can’t face the disgust. “Oh.” Julia’s voice is coming from a million miles away. “So that means you’re…”

“S–surprise.” If you could collapse into a black hole right now, you’d do it.


	7. ¿Te encuentras bien?

The longer the silence lasts the sicker you feel.

Listen to the creak of the couch as Julia stands up. And this is it. It’s over. Not human, not a woman, not a good person. This isn’t something you can have. Ever.

There’s the sound of her knees hitting the floor in front of you and wince. She’s really going to let you have it face-to-face then, huh. Well, can’t see you don’t deserve it. Liar. Deceiver. Her fingers brush against yours, gently prying. You don’t resist as she takes hold of them. How long does it take to re-active the emitters again? Maybe she’ll just kill you now. It’d be easier than this.

Her hands are so warm.

“Hey…”

What is there to say? This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of life-ruining revelations about you and it’s already over. You feel sick. Light-headed. Dizzy? Can’t focus, can’t think. All the little niggling voices of people living their lives clawing at the edges of your awareness.

Julia pulls at your hands and… hiccups? No, that’s– she throws herself at you in a hard embrace. Catch a glimpse of her face and then it’s gone, against your shoulder as she presses tight against you. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, not letting go. “I’m an idiot. A jerk and– and…” Words barely audible descend into mumbled Spanish intermixed with English.

What on earth is happening? Julia has _ never _ fallen apart like this.

“¿T–te encuentras bien? ¿Qué… uh, happen – ocurre?” Try to pull her apart from you, to unfold your legs from being crushed against your chest, to see her face; the only way you can hope to read her. “Julia, w–what’s wrong?”

“Nada.” She lets you pry her away. Her face is wet, but she’s smiling. Relieved, relaxed? This isn’t a range of expression you have much experience seeing from Julia. “No tiene nada de malo.”

A lie, but you don’t have the courage to call her on it. “So… so w–what now?”

Julia meets your eyes, still smiling. “I… had no idea.”

“A–apparently not.”

“But it doesn’t change anything.” She shakes her head, mouth dipping into a quick frown as she thinks. “You’re Ariadne Becker. You’re a woman.”

“A–am I though…”

“Trust me Ari,” there’s a strange look in her eye. “I’ve dealt with plenty of men. You’re a woman.”

You frown. “What d–d–does that mean.”

Julia just smiles. “This does explain… a lot of things that I’d been wondering about, if I’m honest? You’re starting to make a little more sense to me.”

This doesn’t feel real. You shake your head, “Th–that can’t be good.” Are… you smiling too?

“Hey!” She tugs at your hand. “You can still be a puzzle.” A meaningful raise of the eyebrow as she looks up to you from the floor. “I just have a few more pieces in the right place. Like why you always cover up, even in the summer. Or that week you stayed over and thought you were being sneaky by only showering when you thought I was asleep, or–”

“Alright! Alright already!” You can’t stop the laugh. “I get it.” The smile fades from your face fast. “I d–don’t–” You wince, take a breath and avoid her eyes. “I _ hate _ th–this body.”

“Ari…”

“I–I don’t like people look– looking at it.” Orange lines in circuit patterns. Poisoned markers. A fate you can’t escape, only forestall. The regenerator might change that. But not fast enough. Not tonight. And it can’t fix everything. It can’t fix bones, organs, the whole of you really.

“Then I won’t.” There’s a conviction in her voice that catches you off guard. “Not until you want me to. I won’t judge you, okay?”

Shake your head. “Th–that’s not something you can promise.”

“Hey, believe me, I make dumb promises all the time, right?” She dips her head, trying to catch your field of vision, a bright smile on her face. “And I do my best to keep them.”

“Julia…” Can’t bring yourself to anything more. It’s too tempting to let the rest out. Let her know exactly what kind of monster she’s smiling at. That would fix her. That would serve her right for caring about you.

You should.

You can’t.

She’ll stop smiling at you. And you – you don’t want her to stop. To go. To leave you.

Julia’s quiet voice breaks the silence. “Thank you. For trusting me enough to tell me.” She doesn’t know what kind of knife she’s just stabbed you with.

“W–w–well… it was that or– or running, so…” You shrug. More like throwing yourself out the window.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice brightens up, “I’m faster than you.”

You find her face, breathe a sigh of relief. “You s–sure about that, old lady?”

She scrunches up her face. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Hah.” By any reasonable metric you should have fled the scene thrice over already. But you’re still here. She’s still here. “So…” You squeeze her hands tight to stop your own from shaking. “I–I–I guess that ruined the mood, huh.”

“No, no.” Julia shakes her head. “Won’t lie… little surprised but…” She laughs. “I have more experience with those… uh, bits anyway.”

You groan. “Y–you’re t–terrible.”

“You like it, don’t lie.” She works her right hand free, using it to brush the hair away from your face. “So…” Her smile gains teeth “Are we going back to the couch then?”

Jumped over the edge and you still haven’t hit the ground somehow. Is this really happening? It can’t be. Good things don’t happen to something like you. There might never be another chance like this. To have Julia look at you again like you matter. She wants more and you…

“If…” You take a breath, “_ if _ y–you promise to turn out the lights… uh, the–the bed?” Oh god. Did you really say that.

Julia blinks, then laughs. Shock blooming into an utterly terrifying expression of delight. Oh no. Getting to her feet and pulling you up with her. Oh god. Oh god. “Come on then, Ari!” 

Oh god. What the fuck. Why did you say that. What the fuck were you thinking. Holy shit. Fuck. Julia drags you along behind her, not that it’s a long walk. It’d be even shorter if the two of you hadn’t stopped to kiss in the hallway. Her hands on you still terrifying but she keeps them over your shirt. 

In the moment all that seems to matter is that you want this. Want her. Want her to want you. More than anything. Consequences? Distant concerns eating dust in the rear-view mirror, feeling further away all the time.

Julia is here right now in front of you. Fuck future Ari, she’s a joyless bitch. Julia’s right here needing you to kiss her, even if it means lifting up the back of your heels to reach right, Your tongue against hers – fuck. Her hand on your chest, groping at your breast – damn, touching yourself never felt like this.

Break the kiss and Julia looks at you in wonder. Is she feeling as breathless as you? “Mierda, you were saving that one.”

“S–shut up.” Laugh, put a hand between the two of you, gently creating some space. You haven’t taken _ complete _ leave of your senses. Just most of them. Panic attacks have trained you well. “Th–there’s gotta– gotta be some ground rules.”

“Okay.” She stays quiet, waiting for your to continue. Dazed smile, like she can’t believe her luck. Like she can’t believe this is really happening either.

“I–I’m serious.”

“Okay.” Slightly more worried now.

“N–no lights. Nada. I mean it. Pi–pitch black.”

Don’t want her to see it. Don’t want to see it yourself either.

“But–”

You put a finger to her lips to shush her. “Th–that’s the rule. _ ¿Comprendes? _” You swallow hard, drop your hand before she can do something lewd to your finger. Are you still shaking? You feel way too warm. Sweeting like nobody’s business. “You– you can t–t–touch me b–b–but you c–can’t– you can’t see me.” This is absurd, you know that. There’s no reason she should agree to go along with something like that.

“Okay.”

“W–what? Y–you’re okay with– you’re okay with that?”

“I’ve got really good blinds in the bedroom, remember?”

“N–no, I mean–”

“Ari, I want you to be comfortable.” There’s an urgency in her words, she needs you to believe her. “This is supposed to be _ fun _.”

“F–fun.” You echo back. Then you crack, breakdown into a fit of anxious giggles. Julia grabs you before you can fall, a worried look you wave off. “I’m fine – I’m f–fine. This is f–fine. We’re f–fine. _ Oh my god _.” Try to pull yourself together, keep the smile from hurting your face. “B–bed it is then.”

Julia takes you by hand, more gently this time, into her bedroom. It’s a little unsettling stepping inside again for the first time in seven years. The similarities make the differences stand out all the more. New and different books on the shelves, is that a new dresser? The mirror is as dirty as ever so maybe not. Catch sight of yourself in it, and that’s… you don’t know what she sees in you. Literally right now in this moment, can’t even read your own face, red under foundation and concealer, streaked with short black lines from running down from your eyes. So you _ were _ crying then. Embarrassing. An angry red line stitched together that runs over one puffy eye. Hair’s a mess too, tried to comb it today, lost that fight pretty quick. It's funny; looking at your own eyes in the mirror, a little red, a little puffy, but the green doesn't seem so terrible right now, almost pleasant.

At the bed-stand there’s a picture frame; in the old days if whatever guy she was dating made it past the three-month mark, they’d get their picture placed there in the spot of honor. There’s a photo of you and her there now, young still, and in uniform. It’s a low-res picture, grainy and pixelated. From an old press conference broadcast? That’s weird. Huh.

You close the door while Julia sets about drawing the blinds shut. Hands behind your back, lingering on the doorknob. What are you supposed to do right now? It’s an act of will to stay put, to not run. Fighting crazed gunmen, mad scientific experiments, pompous gangsters, and of that would be less terrifying right now. You’ve had a lifetime of acclimation to it. But this? What the hell are you doing here?

Julia looks back you and she looks like the cat that caught the canary. With the door shut you probably can’t escape if you decide to run. But like hell are you going to leave the door open either. Fuck.

She walks back towards you, exaggerating the sway of her hips. She’s trying so hard to act cool, but the twitch of her fingers gives it away and you start cracking up again. She stops, hands on hips, “Hey! What’s so funny?”

“N–n–nothing! It’s fine! It’s fine!” You cover your mouth, try to stand up straight. 

“Well alright, funnygirl,” She steps into your space, brushing your hair back and the urge to giggle freezes. “Do you want me to take my clothes off before or after it gets dark?”

“…w–what?”

Julia drops into a whisper, “My clothes, silly. Did you want to see first?”

If you weren’t blushing before you are now. Can feel the heat all the way up to your ears. “Y–y–you really want to– want to show off that b–bad huh?”

“Before, or after, Ari?”

You chew your lip, you’re going to melt if she keeps looking at you like that. “W–w–well, um, it d–doesn’t– well it doesn’t seem fair, really– I mean sin–since I’m not, but– but you are and–”

“For the love of God, Ari, _ it’s okay _.”

Try to smile, try to relax. “I–I don’t think I want him involved in this.”

That gets a sharp ‘hah’ out of Julia. She steps back, letting her arms fall to her sides. “I’m just going to start getting undressed, then. You turn the lights off whenever you feel like it. Okay?”

You bob your head up and down. Easier than talking right now. Julia smiles, all teeth and wicked intent and damn her she’s getting a kick out of this, isn’t she? She makes a show of it. Shirt, undershirt, nothing you haven’t seen before years ago. Though you always tried to avoid it. Julia’s never had much compunction about walking around half dressed.

Did she know, back then, how much it made you sweat? Well, if she didn’t before she does now. Smile under hooded eyes and… that is a _ very _ lacy bra she’s wearing. Is that really everyday wear for her? Or did she…? But that would mean… oh god.

She moves her arms behind her back and the connection ports that run down her arms are plainly visible in the little circles of just-off skin tone. Less obvious maybe than in the old days but living skin still changes in ways the synthetic stuff can’t replicate, and –

_ Oh _, she’s taking her bra off, that’s what she’s doing. Lets it fall to the floor. She looks back up at you, smug as hell. How can she be so confident standing there like that? If anything, the expression on her face only intensifies on locking eyes with you. “Like what you see, there?”

“S–shut up!” You step back back against the wall, frantically feeling for the light switch. And oh god, where is it, where is it – there! A click and the room goes pitch black.


	8. I don't know

“H–hey!” A flustered laugh from in front of you.

“It– It got d–dark.”

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Y–yeah. I’m just– it’s  _ really _ dark.” You exhale. “G–good.”

Julia laughs. Hands in front of you, you take a cautious step forward. Between her laugh and the static of her mind locating her in the abyss is a matter of a few terror-filled steps. Your hand brushes skin and you instinctively pull back.

She laughs again, “Hi there.” Hands find your shoulders, run down your arms. “Come here often?”

“Idiot.” You break down into giggles again.

“So…” She steps closer towards you, “You want to help me with the rest of this?”

“I…” You let her guide your hands to her belt. The buckle’s already undone, you just have to… pull it loose. Your hands return to the top of her jeans and you freeze up. Lightheaded.

“You okay?”

“N–no. I don’t–“ You shake your head, not that she can see the movement. “I d–don’t know – I don’t know. No sé qué hacer.”

“You know…” Her hands find yours again, gently touch your wrists. “I think this could be the most Spanish I’ve ever heard you say in one day.”

“I don’t know…” You fight back another fit of giggles. «Parlez-vous français? Parli italiano?» You bite your lip. »Spirchst d–du deutsch?«

“All right, I get it.”

“An labhraíonn tú Gaeilge?”

“Okay, okay!” Julia laughs, and you break into giggles again. “I get it. You’re very impressive.” She tugs at your hands. “Show-off.”

“Sorry.” Your face is starting to hurt from grinning so much.

She puts your hands back on her jeans. “Feel any better now?”

“Mm.”

Under Julia’s guidance you slowly bring your hands to the front of her jeans. It takes some fumbling to find and unfasten the button, zipper, tug the denim down her hips. Brush the fabric of her underwear. There’s the tinniest hitch in her breathing at the touch of your fingers. Swallow down your anxiety and help her pull those down too.

Julia steps towards you and out of her clothes as she shakes the last pant leg off, a hand on your shoulder for balance. “Well, that didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it might.” She says, voice light, teasing you maybe.

You hiss in response, find her arm, by blind groping in the dark. Try to kiss her and catch first her chin, then her nose. “Ugh, y–you’re too tall.”

“Excuse me?” comes the bemused reply. “Maybe someone should have eaten their broccoli as a kid.”

The dark hides the grimace on your face. Laugh it off instead, lightly push her away. “A–ass!”

“Very fine, thank you for asking.”

“God, you’re– you’re insufferable.” Shake your head, giggling.

She laughs with you. “As insufferable as wearing sunglasses indoors?”

You gasp, shove her backwards again.

“Ouch! Hey, found the bed.”

“G–good.” You push her again, then cry out in surprise as she grabs your arm, taking you down with her.

“Hah!” Julia cackles as you scramble back to a sitting position. “Told you I was ready for the fall.”

“Oh my god?” You clap a hand to your mouth out of reflex. “You f–f–fucking doofus.” You pat the bed around you, find her leg. Bare. There’s the crest of a scar just above the knee. “S–s–so, now what?”

“Well…” Julia’s hands find yours. “You’re still dressed.”

“Oh.” You say.

“Oh yeah.” You add.

She rubs the top of your hand. “Do you want me to help you out, or…?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Th–that–that might be… might be best.”

“We don’t have to do anything, you know.”

“I know…” You exhale, breath in deep again. “B–b–but I… I want to. I’m just…”

“Sé que tienes miedo.”

“Sí, me t–temo.” You lean towards her. “So… h–help me out? I’ve n–never done… uh –  _ anything _ like this. E–ever.”

There’s a moment of hesitation from Julia, then a breathless “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I… I mean, I guess it should have been obvious, I just… didn’t put it together.”

“D–don’t freeze up on me n–now!” You laughter has an anxious tint to it. “I–I’m c–counting on you for– on you for this.”

“Yeah, well… no pressure.”

“My hero.” Did you mean to be sarcastic or sincere? You’re not even sure.

“Alright, well…” Julia’s hands find your shawl again, gently push it back off your shoulders. You manage the presence of mind to lift your arms to let her take your shirt off. “Wait…” She pauses.

“Y–yeah, I’ve got two shirts on. W–what of it?”

“It was seventy-seven degrees out today.”

“I– I didn’t say it was comfortable.”

Julia snorts and you laugh, lift your arms as she pulls that shirt off too. Try to gauge which way she’s tossing your clothes, but it’s pointless. Besides, there’s more pressing matters demanding your attention. Like the fingers pressing into your bare skin. “Uh–” you breath out. “H–h–h–hi.”

“Hi yourself.” A beat, then: “You holding up okay?”

“F–f–fine.” It feels like your heart could bust through your ribcage. “Y–you?”

“Very well,” She laughs, “Thank you for asking.” Her hands find the back of your bra, her lips brushing your ear. “We good?”

Suck in your breath. “Y–yeah.” Julia undoes the clasp with a disturbing ease and your fingers dig into the bare skin of her leg as your breasts are exposed to the open air. “It’s– It’s a little c–c–cold, isn’t it?”

“I guess we’ll have to huddle together for warmth.”

“S–sounds like a d–drag.”

“Mm-hm. It’s a real chore.”

You have to let her lay you back on the bed for her to pull your pants off. There’s a level of vulnerability to it that you hadn’t anticipated. In trusting Julia. Utterly terrifying. Or maybe exciting? It’s both. She’s practically on top of you now. Skin touching skin. Can feel her breath on your collarbone.

Julia’s hands return to your hips, tracing the crest of bone just under the skin, covered by your underwear. Your own scars aren’t anywhere near as pretty as hers. Jagged, emergency hack jobs, teaching yourself as you went. Amazingly lucky nothing ever got infected. “You still good?”

Your heart catches in your throat as her fingers tease the elastic. Get rid of that and you’ll be– she’ll touch– You close your eyes, try to fight off the sudden rush of nausea. “W–wait.”

Her hands vanish from your hips. “What’s wrong?”

“C–c–can we… can we wait on– wait on  _ that _ ? D–down there?” You open your eyes again, for what little difference that makes. Another bubble of nervous giggles you try to swallow down.

“Are you okay?” Her response is careful. Always so quick to worry.

“It’s just– this is a lot al–already.” More giggling. “I–I’m sorry. I w–want to… I just…”

“You’re fine, Ari.” Hands ghost your skin, find your face, fingers mix with your hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

“B–but…” You groan, not hiding your frustration with yourself. “N–now w–what do we do?”

She laughs, “Well, you know…” Julia lands a peck awkwardly on your cheek. “You’re allowed to touch me too. If you want to.”

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “O–okay.” Find her side, run your hand along her stomach. It’s a little unnerving how many little faded scars you can find, how many of them you can guess at the cause. A huge one stretching across, that one has to be from the Catastrofiend.

Your hand traces upwards, finds her breast. The change in her breathing as you touch her. You’re not really sure what to do, so you settle for softly running your fingers over her skin, focus on building a sense of her in your head, the shape of her breasts, how they taper to a point – one that, as you touch, you can hear the sharp intake of breath. “A–are you o–okay?”

“You know…” Julia’s voice is warm, “I never expected you’d be such a soft touch.”

You can feel your face burn. “W–what does that mean!?”

“Come on,” She laughs. “You were– Sidestep was always so gung-ho. I’m just… surprised is all. Remember how I used to have to– Ooow!”

You let go of her nipple. “W–what was that about– about a soft t–touch?”

“Why you–” She laughs, shifts on the bed, trying to grab you. “I’ll get you back for that.” You cackle, one arm guarding your breasts while you try fend off her hand.

Only, that proves to be a mistake. She catches your arm, half up to the elbow. The part you make sure to always keep covered. Tattoos aren’t the only thing you have to hide. She holds you, not hard, but – firmer than you’d like. Thumbing the lines, up and up and up. “Ari?”

“I’m sorry.” No point denying it. 

“You’re…?” Bewilderment. “ _ You’re _ sorry?”

“Y–you’re upset. I’m sorry.”

“Then stop doing it.”

“I–I–I haven’t. N–not in a w–while.”

“In a while…? Like… how long? When we were–”

“Y–yeah.”

“And while you were… away?”

“Th–then t–too.”

“Damnit Ari.”

“I’m sor–” The air is crushed out of your lungs in a hug. Someone sobs. Is… Julia crying? Or.. no, that’s you. You’re crying. Again.

“I love you, you know that?”

What are you supposed to say, to something like that? This is so far beyond anything you had ever been trained for. But here’s Julia Ortega, holding you. Each new terrible revelation only makes her cling tighter. You don’t understand it.

“You hear me?” Julia presses.

This is so off spec it’s absurd. There is no possible response. Except to try not to embarrass yourself as tears wash out what’s left of your make-up.

“So start taking care of yourself already.”


	9. Don't look back

“I’m s–sorry.” You whisper into the room. It’s so dark in here, thank god. Shapes and colors reduced to the faintest suggestions in the imagination. Shadows cast against the wall from somewhere else.

Her arms shift, pulling you closer against her. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” The words hit your chest like an ice dagger. Will you ever do something so evil as to match this? Laying in Julia’s arms, in Julia’s bed? “Hey,” she squeezes you, “hey, I thought we already cried ourselves out?”

You run your hand over her arm, up her shoulder, letting your fingertips pull at her skin. “I’m sorry we couldn’t…” go farther, you want to say, but don’t. Go all the way, you want to say, but won’t.

A hand rubs your cheek, “Oh, I think we did just fine,” Julia’s voice is light and genuine, bringing a memory of hands on skin. You want to believe her, that this wasn’t a disappointment. “Next time we’ll  _ both _ be more prepared. Now that we know what we’re working with,” her voice purrs and you feel a shiver run down your back. There  _ is _ going to be a next time, then. Maybe even a third, if you’re lucky. If everything doesn’t come crashing down around you before then. You’ve stepped over the event horizon; no one but yourself threw you out of this window.

“Alright th–then, I’d… I’d like that.” you whisper, “thank you.”

“Your welcome?” Comes Julia’s bemused reply.

What’s one more fall, at this point?

“I w–was so lost,” you say suddenly, surprising yourself, “w–without you, or Anathema, Sentinel, Sunstream… all the– all the rest… even Steel, I guess.”

“‘Even Steel,’ huh?” Julia asks, mirroring your fingers tracing her back, with her tracing yours.

“Every family needs th–that stick-in-the-mud.” Neither of you laugh. “You all made me feel like– like I was– like I was a real person?” You choke, teetering on the edge of truth. “H–human?”

“Well, of course you’re human Ari,” Julia retorts, her ignorance another stab of pain to your heart. After a second, her voice soft again, she adds, “you were my best friend, too.”

You shift position so you can kiss her, it takes a trial run in the dark, tasting salt, before you find her lips. It doesn’t last long enough.

“Y–you were all such… ex–extraordinary, amazing people. You made me w–want to be special too. To–to–to do something more with this… power I had then pe–petty theft or…” You don’t have the courage to finish that sentence, instead weaving your legs between Julia’s, a hug of knees. “And I– I wanted you t–to notice me. To… really see  _ me,  _ like– like how I saw you.”

“Ari…” Julia laughs, but it has a bitter edge to it. “How did neither one of us ever say anything?”

“No lo sé.” You lie.

“Yo tampoco lo sé.” She lies back.

“And th–then…” You pull yourself as close as you can, until your ear is pressing against her chest, until you can hear her heartbeat. “They t–t–took me away.” Your voice strains, it’s like the words themselves hurt your throat. “They– they took me away and n–no one ever came to– ever came to get me. You n–never came.”

“Ari…” Julia’s voice is pained as she wraps her arms around your back.

“I–I–I thought you all had… had thrown me away. So I t–told myself I h–hated you too.”

You can feel the stray electric charge from Julia’s mods raising the hairs on the back of your neck. “If I had known, Ari, I  _ swear _ –“

You cut her off. “So I d–did what I– what I had to do. To–to survive. Just like before. W–whatever it took. What–whatever it cost.” You dig your nails into Julia’s back, one finger tracing a too-familiar pattern from memory. “Then one day, I… got lucky. I–I got out again. But… some years had passed and– and everything had changed. I– I had changed.”

“Ari… please, who are these people?” It’s a plea. An honest one. But she doesn’t know what she’s asking.

You suck in your breath, feel the familiar static of Julia’s thoughts, forever unknown to you. Already you’re regretting your honesty. You’re just going to ruin your own revenge, or worse, get Julia killed. “I t–told you already Julia. You can’t– you can’t save me. You can’t save the– the dead. This isn’t something you c–can just… punch and make b–better.” She doesn’t need to know about your own plans, not yet. Not tonight. Maybe not ever if you’re lucky. “Ariadne d–died in that apartment, right alongside Anathema. Julia… I don’t know who– who I am now.” You laugh, feeling hollow, grateful it’s too dark for her to see your face . “A ghost, maybe? 

Julia’s heartbeat is pounding in your ear, her arms pressing against you as if she can somehow squeeze the negative emotion out of you. “You’re not a ghost, Ari.”

“Yes I am.” Your reply is sharp, immediate. “I–I’m not real, Julia.” You’re not crying again. You’ve already had enough tonight. It’s not happening again. It isn’t.

“You are.” Julia repeats forcefully, squeezing you a little for emphasis. “What… parts you were born with doesn’t matter. You  _ are _ a real woman, Ari.”

You sigh, frustration and fear mounting, how is it not obvious? “Y–you don’t–“ you want to clarify but now your courage is failing you again. That’s what? The third time this night? At least.

It’s not like ‘cowardice’ wasn’t already on your list of sins. “…thank you.”

“Can you…” Julia’s speech is slow, deliberate, as if she’s terrified of what the answer will be, and that alone gets you attention. “Can you ever forgive me? For not coming?”

You don’t respond at first, instead you trace your fingers up the back of Julia’s spine, feeling the scars, the outlines of metal, the years of work both man-made and natural that went into this woman beside you. “D–do you have any idea how long I’ve w–wanted to do this?” You lean in, kiss her shoulder before moving up to her neck. “You pulled me out of– out of that grave, Julia Ortega. Y–you’re my very own Orpheus.”

Maybe it’s not the answer she’s hoping for, but it’s the only answer you have. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this chapter was posted as a [separate work on June 13th, 2019]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195375)


	10. Coda

In the dark, in the aftermath as you contemplate the safest way to get dressed again, a soft voice pokes through the machine-quiet, thrumming from the chest underneath you. You shift position, looking up at the shadow of her face. “Julia? Are– are you… singing again?” You whisper.

Julia doesn’t respond but you can feel her head nod on the bed. You let yourself close your eyes and listen for a moment, and then– “oh, no, no, stop. Stop, Julia, you’re b–butchering it.”

She laughs and you find yourself laughing along with her. “Well then,” she shifts a hand free from under you, running it through your uncombed hair, straightening out the knots. “You going to show me how it’s done?”

You freeze for a moment, paralyzed with fear, a sinking dread of the void you know is coming to swallow you whole. Then Julia’s hand strokes your hair again, and at least for a second you feel anchored. Real again. “Okay,” you whisper, “just this once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this chapter was posted as a [separate work on June 13th, 2019]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195375)


End file.
